


#Nordic Summer Vacation

by vettel



Category: Olympics RPF
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, FaceTime Sex, M/M, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Texting, Threesome - M/M/M, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vettel/pseuds/vettel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ståle lets Mark nose around his house while he drags Mark's shit up into his bedroom. Well, his and Mark's now, soon to be his and Mark <i>and</i> Sage's, which is something that has Ståle dropping down onto his bed in the same way he likes to flop backwards onto a snowbank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#Nordic Summer Vacation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speakingwosound (sev313)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/gifts).



> Throughout the course of writing this Sage tweeted a lot of dumb stuff, and in those dumb tweets there were a lot of emojis. Those emojis worked their way into the story. Likewise with Ståle and his #nordicsummervacation tag.

Sage misses his flight, mostly because he's an idiot. 

He and Ståle text back and forth for the two hours it takes Sage's new flight to ready itself for boarding. Sage makes a game of his apologies, saying he's sorry in a plethora of different ways with varying degrees of sincerity. Ståle replies to each one with Snapchat's of his face looking exaggeratedly disappointed. He's not really all that mad about it. It's not as if an hour or two makes all that much difference on a fourteen hour flight.

Sage follows up his latest apology-gif with an excited, ' _I'm up!!!!_ '

' _Fly safe_ ,' Ståle sends back. Sage's original arrival may be delayed by a few hours, but Mark's still set to land on schedule. Ståle talks himself into getting out of bed so that he can tidy up his place a bit before he needs to head out for the airport, maybe even find the time to try and fit in a workout.

Finally out of bed, Ståle reaches up for the ceiling to crack his spine. His phone chimes again so he looks back down to see that Sage has sent back, '.' Ståle doesn't even realize he's smiling until his cheeks start to ache. He double checks to make sure his ringer is on before clicking off the screen and shoving his phone deep down into one of the back pockets of his sweats. 

It takes him about an hour and a half to do the dishes, vacuum, toss a couple loads of laundry into the washer and then shift them into the dryer. He's finishing up a four mile ride on the stationary bike that he keeps on his small excuse for a porch when his phone finally beeps. He fishes it out excitedly and slides past the lock screen to pull up the Just Landed app. He's got little more than an hour before Mark's flight is due to touch down.

He showers and changes into something a little more appropriate for the outside world – which for him means that the sweatpants he decides to pull on are by Rick Owen instead of one of the million free pairs Oakley has hooked him up with over the years. He decides to go all out and tugs a UNIF knit sweater over his white Acne v-neck.

As he's getting read to walk out the door Ståle receives another text message from Sage, ' _Shit son!!! this got wifi!_ ' It gives Ståle an idea, and so he pauses to take a selfie in the mirror by his front door before he locks the door behind him for good. He climbs into his car and turns it on. While he's waiting for the cabin to warm up he Snaps the photo he too to Sage. 

' _!!!_ ,' Sage sends back quickly. Followed up with, ' _Nooooooice! wear that when you pick me up too!_ '

The traffic as he drives into Oslo isn't too bad and he has more than enough time to hunt down a place to park in the short-term lot. The airport itself isn't crowded at all, not all that many people coming or going at 10AM on a Tuesday. Ståle clicks around on his phone while he waits, sneaking peeks at the arrivals board and then laughing at himself because he has real-time tracking of Mark's flight right there on his phone. He then wastes ten minutes of his life agonizing over a little dot moving closer and closer until Mark's plane is finally there.

Ståle knows that Mark's going to be caught up in immigration for a while so he busies himself with picking up any luggage Mark might've checked, makes a game out of figuring out which bag is his. The conveyor belt starts up and things make their way out onto the baggage carousel. Mark's bag is hilariously and painfully obvious, the obnoxious red maple leaf decal pressed snug onto the canvas of the oversized duffle signaling it as Mark's better than any name tag ever would. Even if Ståle had any doubts, the slightly smaller board stickers stuck next to the leaf would put them to rest easily. 

He shoulders and lugs the thing back to Mark's arrival gate, just outside of customs, shifting his weight back and forth until he finally sees Mark, looking around with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Valp!" He shouts excitedly, grinning when Mark spots him and jogs over towards where Ståle's standing. 

"Don't call me that," Mark whines as he barrels himself into Ståle's chest. He starts to press his face into Ståle's shoulder so that he can rub his nose against Ståle's neck, which really just gives Ståle more justification to call him that. He hugs Mark tighter to him instead of calling him out on it.

"Sage missed his flight," Ståle tells Mark, lips pressed just shy of his ear. "We found him one that left a couple hours after the first one though. Shouldn't mess us up too much." 

Mark lets out a happy little huff and Ståle doesn't hold himself back from squeezing Mark extra tight for a few seconds before he finally lets him go. He lead the both of them out of Arrivals and back to his SUV where they shove Mark's heavy duffle into the trunk and drop his backpack into the back seat.

"Come here and kiss me," Ståle says once they're seated and have gotten their doors closed, a small semblance of privacy. Mark stops from buckling up his seatbelt and leans across the center console to get at Ståle's lips. Ståle lets himself focus on the slide of their mouths for a few minutes before he shifts gears. He picks his phone up and starts to Snap a video of the two of them. It's pretty hard to kiss and keep said kiss in-frame at the same time, but Ståle manages. Mark finally clues in and grunts while he tries to paw the phone out of Ståle's hand. 

"Sage's flight has wifi," Ståle supplies in explanation. Mark stares at him blankly for a few moments, his eyes still sort of hazy, before he starts to grin, slow and sweet. He hops up onto the divider so that he can lean into Ståle's space, both of them hunched over Ståle's phone while Ståle makes it so 'reunited and it feels so good!' is written overtop the video before he finally presses send. 

Both of their phones vibrate with a group message thread and they laugh before they even get Messages app open, giggling like idiots because Sage's first text is nothing but a spam of, ',' followed up with an all-caps demand to know why there isn't an emoji that accurately sums up the soul crushing experience of having an erection on a plane without either of his boyfriends there to help him out with it.

Ståle finds himself slightly breathless as he reads the word 'boyfriend', can hear that Mark is having pretty much the same reaction. The three of them hooked up with one another more than a few times since they met in their teens, mostly an attribution to hormones and weed and how fucking cold nights can get while on tour, but the first time they actually did anything as a three-man unit was after they medaled in Sochi. 

It'd been _amazing_. So good that even after Ståle's orgasm-high had faded he'd found himself wanting more. To spend time with them, to kiss, hug, talk to them all the time. Sage and Mark felt the same about him, and about one another, so they came up with this idea, and here they are, post-Olympics press tours done and two-thirds of the way reunited, ready and willing to give a relationship between the three of them a shot. 

Ståle turns so that he's nosing at Mark's cheek, the two alternating smiles between their phones and back at one another. "Tell Sage he needs to hurry up," Ståle says, kissing Mark a few more times before he shoves him back into the passenger seat, laughing at Mark as he falls into the door shoulder first in an undignified lump. 

He buckles up and starts the car, waiting for Mark to do the same before backing out and driving towards the exit. He pulls out onto the main road and heads towards back into downtown Oslo. Ståle keeps his eyes on the road, sometimes glancing at Mark and the way he's laughing down at his phone.

"You hungry?" Ståle asks, taking his right hand off the steering wheel so that he can poke blindly at Mark's cheek, grinning smugly when Mark starts to laugh and tries to swat Ståle's fingers away. "Tell Sage to watch a movie or something. I've got dibs on you until he lands."

"Okay coach," Mark teases, shooting Ståle an amused look. "'Ståle says that you're cockblocking him'," Mark says aloud as he types, "No more texting until you're about to land. Sucks to be you, bro!' And," Mark draws out the word, tacking on a few emojis before finally hitting send. "There! Sent. Take me to get some traditional Norwegian shit, I'm fucking starving."

"Reindeer it is," Ståle says blandly. He can hear Mark actually start to choke on air and Ståle bursts into laughter the glance he gets of Mark's face, contorted as it is in disgust. "I'm just fucking with you, Jesus." Ståle placates.

Ståle takes them to a nice restaurant, a new place that all the local foodie-type bloggers have been hyping up. It seems like a place that Mark would love, and that Ståle and Sage could make fun of him for loving. Fun for the whole family.

Mark's out of his seat before Ståle's even killed the ignition. Ståle locks the doors and follows Mark inside, looping an arm around Mark's waist before he goes off and follows the host to a seat, keeping him pressed snug to Ståle's side so that he doesn't wonder off again.

"We're getting it to go," Ståle says with intent, making exaggerated eyes at Mark to really sell his point. Mark pouts but doesn't complain, wrapping his own arm around Ståle's shoulder. 

Ståle placed an order while earlier and he tells the hostess as much, rattling off his last name and giving her his card to pay for the food while they wait for the other host to bring them his order.

Mark carries the food while they walk back to the car, his free hand grabbing hold of Ståle's and swinging their cupped palms back and forth between their bodies. He aims his stupid puppy-eyes in Ståle's direction once they climb back into the car, making pathetic nosies as he fingers the snaps on the containers.

"Yeah, yeah, you can eat on the drive home," Ståle grouches, fighting back a smile. "Just don't spill anything."

By the time they pull up to Ståle's place Mark has managed to finish about a third of their food, sharing a grand total of two bites with Ståle. If it was anyone else Ståle would probably complain, but there's something about being hand-fed by Mark, so he lets it go.

Ståle lets Mark nose around his house while he drags Mark's shit up into his bedroom. Well, his _and_ Mark's now, soon to be his and Mark's _and_ Sage's, which is something that has Ståle dropping down onto his bed in the same way he likes to flop backwards onto a snowbank, like he's weightless and knows that nothing will hurt him. 

Mark peaks in and asks, "What's up?" when he sees Ståle spread across the top of the bed. He crawls up with him and lays half on top of Ståle, tangling their legs together. They make out for a while like that, Ståle rubbing his hand along Mark's side as they kiss. 

"C'mon, let's finish up that food while it's still hot," Ståle says against Mark's lips. Mark starts to nod, and Ståle finds himself bobbing his head up and down too, keeping pace with Mark so that they can keep kissing. Mark laughs once he notices what Ståle's doing. He shoves Ståle back and climbs back off the bed, leaving the room without waiting to see if Ståle's following him.

Ståle listens as Mark thunders down the stairs, his usually pretty quiet house suddenly alight with noise. He can't wait for Sage to join them.

Mark's got everything spread out across the dining room table by the time Ståle makes it downstairs. Ståle leans against the doorway and watches Mark as he grabs two people's worth of plates and cutlery and sets the table for them. He turns around and doubles back to the living room, grabbing his stash box off the living room table and bringing it back with him to the kitchen. 

While Mark plates their food, Ståle rolls a joint for them to share, lighting it and toking up a few times before handing it over to Mark. They eat and pass the joint between them, their feet tangling beneath the table even though they're sitting shoulder to shoulder at the table.

"What time does Sage's flight land again?" Mark asks around the rim of his glass, taking a sip of his water. Ståle grabs the electronic pitcher he keeps sitting on the middle of the table and refills both their glasses without really thinking about it. 

"Can't you do the math? It's a fourteen hour flight from LAX." Ståle feels pretty disconnected from his body right now, but he's pretty sure that he's full. Sure-ish, anyway. He's decided that he's done eating, Mark can have the rest.

"I can barely do math when I'm _not_ high," Mark groans., dropping his head down onto Ståle's shoulder, looking pretty pathetic.

"North Americans," Ståle tsks. Then he thinks about it and grins, bringing up a hand to ruffle through Mark's hair. "Actually, Sage is really good at math, so I guess it's just Canadians, 'eh?" His Canadian accent is horrible but it has his desired effect. Mark sits up straight like a rod, cheeks puffing up. 

"Aw, Valp," Ståle says around his laughter, doing his best to sound contrite as he coos at Mark. "I'm sorry, come here. You're good at other things." Ståle pulls at him until Mark climbs into his lap, both of them perched on an IKEA chair that probably wont hold their combined weight for long. 

"I wish Sage was here," Mark says. Ståle knows exactly what he means. It feels as like they're stuck in this middle ground, a vital piece missing. Like nothing will really _start_ until Sage is there with them. 

"Yeah me too," he cuddles Mark to him. They sit in silence for a while and it's really nice, which means that Ståle instantly feels an itch to ruin it. "I mean, he's a gold medalist. I feel like I'm dating-down right now, Bronzie."

Mark punches him in the chest but they're pressed too close together for it to really hurt, not enough swing. Mostly it feels like a little kid throwing a tantrum, and that sets Ståle off so that he's laughing again. It just makes Mark sock him harder, wiggling away so that he can really pull his arm back and put more force into it.

Ståle's still laughing when Mark stands up and starts clearing the table, dropping their plates and forks into the sink. Ståle knows that it's not really as funny as he thinks he is, but the buzz of his high has him sort of floating. 

He snags Mark's wrist once he's finished tidying up, using the momentum of Mark trying to walk away from him to pull himself up so that he's stranding, the two of them looking eye-to-eye. 

"I like that we're the same height," Ståle says. Mark looks at him like he's dumb, still mad at Ståle, and Ståle totally gets that, but he still feels like he has to say it. "Like, you and me and Sage, we're all the exact same height. It's like it's a sign. We're meant to be." 

"You're dumb," Mark says, but he's smiling and leaning in towards Ståle, their foreheads pressed together. 

They head into the living room and drop down onto the couch, Mark curling himself around the shorter end while Ståle takes the long bit of the L. Ståle tips his head to look and see what Mark's doing and he smiles at how Mark's putting up a valiant fight to keep his eyes open, one that he's obviously losing. 

Ståle's been up since before the sun, excited to have Sage and Mark with him at last. Mark must be tired from traveling, warm food and weed probably not helping to keep him awake. They've both still got their outer layers on, so it's easy for Ståle to grab the blanket his sister bought him from the back of his couch and drape it over their legs, the excess dropping down onto the floor. 

"Here," Ståle says, opening up the stupid Just Landed app so Mark can see how much time there is before they need to head out to pick up Sage. "We've got a little less than ten hours. Take a nap, kiddo."

"You're like, seven months older than me," Mark complains, but does as he's told, tugging his hood up so that he's got his own little cocoon-thing going, between his sweater and the blanket. Ståle follows suit.

His phone wakes him up nine hours later, the battery on its final legs. The living room is pitch black because he apparently forgot to turn on any lights before he passed out, the sun long having set. It takes him a few minutes to remember just what's going on, but when he spots Mark's sad owl-looking self it all comes back to him.

Ståle grins, smacking his lips a few times before crowding over to Mark's end of the couch and laying on top of him, reaching under the blanket to slide his hands up the back of Mark's hoodie and shirt, scratching at the skin there. 

"It's time, Mark," he whispers, poking his nose into Mark's cheek. Mark makes a sleepy noise but opens his eyes slightly, wider when he realizes how dark it is, straining to see. "Are you excited?"

"Is it Sage Thyme?" Mark asks, and they both start cackling, pressing kisses into one another's mouth. 

"Text him that," Ståle enthuses as he sits up and rights his sweater from where it'd twisted up around his middle as he slept. He goes into the kitchen and grabs three bottles of water, tossing one to Mark when they meet up again in the hallway in front of the front door. 

Ståle phone lights up as he's locking the door, and he passes it to Mark, figuring that it'll be from Sage anyway.

"How come he texts you when I'm the one who texted him," Mark complains. "We have a group threat! This is some favoritism shit." 

Ståle turns and hooks his chin over Mark's shoulder so that he can read what Sage sent. ' _I know you put Mark up to that Ståle!!!!!!! don't be jealous of my name game!!!!!!!!_ '

They both rolls their eyes and laugh. Mark stuffs Ståle's phone into the pocket of his hoodie, right next to his own. 

In the car he fishes them out again and plugs them into the pair of chargers Ståle's learned from experience to keep lying around. 

"How do you say 'Sage Thyme' in Norwegian anyway?"

"Salvie Timian," Ståle answers, turning up his lights as high as they'll go as he pulls out onto the main road. 

Mark lets out a disappointed sound. "Sounds funnier in English." 

"Everything sounds funnier in English, it's a silly language," Ståle says, maybe twenty percent because he actually believes it, but mostly to get Mark riled up. They keep at it the whole drive there, Ståle making half-apologies before he insults Canada or North America in general, sometimes tossing anecdotes about in how the United States is the better than their neighbors to the north by every conceivable metric, just to add in some variety.

They pull into the short term parking lot and Ståle has just has to laugh; the exact same spot he parked in that morning is open again. Mark shoots him a bewildered look but keeps his mouth shut, vowed into silence until Ståle says he's sorry for insulting Canada and actually means it. Ståle may have said that he'd enjoy the peace and quiet. 

They're both little brothers and it's hard to shake a little brothers instinct. They're better when Sage is around because he doesn't let them take it too far. Ståle can recognize that he's being an asshole and that he should just apologize, but he loves the way that Mark is pointedly not looking at him. Each time that Mark obviously bit his tongue and stopped himself from making little comments on the drive into the city equal parts endearing and hilarious to Ståle.

So instead of apologizing he just grabs his phone and checks the status of Sage's flight, only to find that its still got forty-five minutes before it's due to land. "The fuck?" Ståle grumbles, switching over to Messages app so that he can ask Sage what's up.

Mark gives up on his silent treatment and climbs back on to the center console so that he can see Ståle's phone. "No," he groans, voice thick with feeling. Ståle knows the feeling. 

' _Runway is packed they got us circling _ ', Sage replies, and they both moan in sympathy. Ståle and Mark stare at one another, frowning. 

Mark unplugs his own phone and opens up their group thread, sending, ' _Go into the bathroom_ '. He looks up at Ståle and says, "Let's climb into the backseat."

Ståle waits for Mark to crawl between the seats into the back, dodging out of the way when one of Mark's socked feet nearly clips him on the cheek. "When did you even take off your shoes, you freak?" Ståle asks, following Mark once he's flopped down into the second row of seats, sitting down next to him.

"First thing I do when I get in a car is take of my shoes," Mark says matter-of-factly as he tugs his hoodie up over his head and stuffs it between the little space between the two front seats, making sure that it doesn't dislodge or fall down. Ståle just sort of watches him. Mark catches him at it and says, "Start getting naked, Ståle."

Ståle's just got his sweater off when his phone lights up with Sage response, a simple, ' _!_ '. 

Mark picks up Ståle's jacket from where he'd tossed it down into the footwell and stuffs it on top of his own. He opens up FaceTime and calls Sage, stuffing his phone into the little supportive nest he'd made out of their sweaters. 

Sage answers and it looks like the plane's wifi must be pretty good, there's a bit of jerky-latency but everything looks sharp, no pixels to be found. "Hey guys," Sage greets, sounded excited. "They must have known that I was on the plane. I like getting air but this is just too much!"

Ståle opens his mouth to tease Sage, wants to say something about him always trying to one-up them, but Mark cuts him off with, "Get your dick out, Sage." Sage's mouth drops down just as Ståle feels his own snap shut. "Make sure you get it in the frame."

"For real?" Ståle and Sage say at the same time. Ståle has to admit that he's pretty excited, but Sage sounds like they're pulling the worlds worst prank on him. Thinking about it, Ståle figures that they probably are. 

"Didn't wanna get first tracks without you, buddy." Mark smiles as he pushes Ståle so that he's laying flat on the back seat, shoving down at Ståle's sweats until they're tangled around his ankles. Mark bites his lip when he sees that Ståle's been freeballing, turns his head so that he's looking at Sage through the screen of the phone, smiling his open-mouthed smile that's always made Ståle feel hot and bothered. As if to prove his point, his dick starts chubbing up where it had been laying prone against his thigh. 

"You are such a fucking liar," Sage says, shaking his head. Ståle and Mark both watch as he starts to undo his jeans and shove them halfway down his thighs. His phone tilts so that all they can see is the stupid beanie Sage's got sitting on his head. They both complain, shouting for him to fix the angle. 

"Alright, alright you fucking whiners, here it is." He repositions the phone so that his dick is right in the center. Ståle has always loved Sage's dick. It's bigger than his and Mark's, nice and fat and curved, whereas Ståle's is slightly longer, but has less heft to it; Mark's is just as lean as the rest of his body, stick straight. The elastic of Sage's boxer briefs are caught just under Sage's balls, pushing them up so that they're pressed to his cock. Ståle keeps staring at Sage's dick, feels his mouth water. 

"And I thought I was gonna be the Gaper," Sage says, voice loud and clear over the soft noise of Ståle and Mark's wet panting. "But look at you, you're both fucking gagging for it." Ståle just sort of – well, he nods, because he is basically gagging for it, wishes that Sage was here in the backseat with him and Mark. 

Mark finally lays himself fully between Ståle's legs, a spaced carved out for him. Ståle's got one leg tossed over the back of the seat, toes dangling in the air, while his other is firmly planted into the footwell, knee bent so that Mark's caged in just in case he gets too close to the edge of the seat and starts to topple. 

He sucks Ståle's dick into his mouth without much ceremony, forcing Ståle to groan out in surprise just as much as from the pleasure of it, feels himself go fully erect in Mark's mouth. Ståle watches as Mark shifts his weight onto one arm, leaning on his elbow so that he can wrap a hand around the base of Ståle's cock. Mark slips his free hand down between his body and the fabric of the seats, fisting himself and tugging at his dick at the same pace he's set for himself in blowing Ståle. 

Ståle turns to look back at Mark's phone, moaning long and loud at the sight of Sage, the way he's fisting himself tightly, jerking himself like it hurts too much to slow down, draw it out. This blowjob is the first human contact he's had since February, that first time they'd all hooked up together. Since then they've all taken care of themselves, sometimes having a three-way Skype session that's only made Ståle long for them more than it's ever helped eased the ache of _waiting_. He knows that's what Sage feels, still stuck on the other side, unable to touch.

"I'd," Ståle stammers, his voice coming out rough and broken, English the last thing on his mind. "I'd let you fuck my throat, Sage," he finally gasps out. Ståle wants to say more, wants to tell Sage that he'd let him do anything to him, that he'd love every second of it, that sometimes he feels like he can still remember the ache in his jaw from the last time he blew Sage, the taste of Mark's body from when Ståle had eaten him out before swallowing Sage down. "I'd let you do anything" Ståle says instead, because it's just about all he can say.

It has his desired effect, both Mark and Sage groaning. Mark presses down until his nose is buried against the smooth, shaved skin of Ståle's groin, swallowing around his cock. Ståle pushes up, can't help it, and Mark rides it out , tilting his head back like he's surfing a wave. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, " Sage chants. Ståle looks up from where he'd been staring, amazed, at Mark and Sage falls apart, come shooting out from between his fist in thick pulses. Ståle comes while watching Sage's body twitch in the aftershocks of his orgasm, most of it going straight down Mark's throat, the rest landing on his face when Mark pulls away to hide his face in the skin of Ståle's hip, gasping as he shudders his way through his own orgasm. 

Ståle closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath, petting his hand through Mark's hair. He listens to Mark breathe, distantly registering what has to be the sound of Sage wiping himself down and stuffing his dick back into his pants. Suddenly there's a faraway, tinny _ding_ , so foreign that Ståle opens his eyes in confusion.

"Spoice," Sage says lazily, slowly. Ståle looks back at the phone and he smiles at the way Sage is smiling at he and Mark, obviously blissed out even though he had to deal with his own hand while the two of them had each other. "That's the fasten seatbelt sign. I'll be with you boys in a minute, try not to kill each other." He and Mark both grunt their agreement and then the call disconnects, Sage's face blinking out of view. 

Ståle let's Mark lay on him for another five minutes before he shoves him off. It's a bit of a battle to find a spare napkin but they manage, Ståle gently wiping his come from where it'd gotten on Mark's skin. Mark doing his dumb open-mouthed smile again and Ståle just has to lean in to kiss it off his face. 

Finally decent, they lock up the car and head through Arrivals. Ståle feels his legs shaking as they walk towards an empty pair of chairs, knows that he's throughly comedrunk. They sit in contented silence as they wait for Sage's flight to finally clear the runway. 

Mark shoots him a look and calls him lazy but he lets Ståle stay seated, goes to fetch Sage's checked luggage on his own. 

He's in the exact same place as he'd been that morning, fourteen hours removed, yet everything feels completely different. Ståle's minutes away from having the two people he wants most in the world with him, and he doesn't feel that itchy feeling that's been known to sneak up on him, that tells him that he needs to run after what he wants before it escapes him. For the first time in his life he's content to trust and let what he wants come to him.


End file.
